


Make 'Em Laugh

by a_taller_tale



Series: RvB Fluff Week [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blood Gulch Chronicles, Early in Canon, Laughter, M/M, RvB Fluff Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.





	Make 'Em Laugh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PirateSimmons (FreysGalli)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreysGalli/gifts).



> Pirate prompted "Grimmons - getting each other to laugh and their reactions to the other laughing." Many thanks to him for both the prompt and coming up with the exhaust joke.
> 
> Didn’t get this one out in time for Fluff Week, but really, every week can be a fluff week.

“But why are _we_ fixing the warthog?” Grif whined. 

“I don’t get why you’re complaining. At least we’re inside.” Simmons said, tightening the lug nuts. “You hate patrol. You hate walking around. You hate spying on the Blues. At least we’re stationary and we’re working on cars. You like cars.” 

Okay, it was true he liked cars, but he hated any kind of work, especially when he was being told what to do. And he definitely picked up vehicles and weaponry pretty fast even though he tried to hide it. Last thing he needed was anyone thinking he was proficient at anything. He was done with that life. 

“Didn’t you say you used to work on cars at a garage as a kid?” Simmons asked. 

Grif was surprised he remembered that detail, because he couldn’t remember telling him that story. It had been a hard summer. The longest amount of time their mom had been gone. He’d been lucky to get that job. Lied about his age, and the old man could definitely tell, but slipped him money under the table anyway. 

“One, this is not a car. It’s called the warthog,” Grif said. 

Simmons rolled his eyes. 

“Two,” Grif continued. “That was voluntary, and this is extra work that I’m not getting paid for.” 

“You are getting paid for it!” Simmons said. “You’re in the army! They send you a paycheck!” 

“Yeah? Where am I gonna spend it in _Blood Gulch_? The store we sent Donut to?” That sounded less casual and more angry than he usually tried to keep it. 

Simmons squinted at him. “Tired?” 

Shit. 

It was probably obvious Grif hadn’t been sleeping. The nightmares tended to only come when he slept for more than a few hours a night. So on particularly rough weeks he made up the sleep by slipping off to nap during the day. 

But with Lopez missing, they were all taking turns with vehicle and base maintenance and there hadn’t been as many opportunities. And Simmons was starting to get this weird sixth sense about where Grif was and kept fucking _catching him._ Which is what happened just before he got him to work on the warthog. 

Simmons kept looking at him like he was waiting for a reaction, his face screwed up like he was holding back a smile. 

Oh. _Oh._

 _‘Tired.’_ Simmons was working on the tires. 

A pun? Really? He thought he was a funny guy, huh? Well, Grif could one up him there. 

Grif picked up a piece of the exhaust pipe and said in the driest voice that he could muster, “Exhausted.” 

Simmons froze. Then he started shaking. 

His face got red and it looked similar to when he was about to explode into a nerdy tantrum. But instead a little chuckle burst out of him. A full laugh. Then Simmons dropped his tools and started cracking the fuck up like it was the funniest thing that had ever happened. 

Grif sat there, dumbstruck, holding a pipe in his hand, watching the most killjoy nerd in the entire Red Army lose his shit over a really basic pun. 

“Do you need an inhaler?” Grif felt his mouth twitching to smile back. Sympathetic response, not because it was cute at all. 

Simmons held his ribs, trying to talk, but failing and cracking himself up again. It was like he’d been holding all this in the whole time they’d been stationed and now it was all coming out in a torrent. 

…Goddammit, it was cute. 

Maybe Grif would add some more dumb jokes to his repertoire if he could get the kiss-ass to loosen up like this more often. 

*** 

Valhalla had a ton of old supplies they moved up from the basement when Lopez was building the projection room. They’d shared a look and managed to squirrel away the alcohol for themselves. 

Simmons had never hated Blood Gulch as much as Grif did, but it was a lot more of a pleasant view looking over the water in Valhalla at night than glaring into the sunlight in a desert canyon. The night made it feel a lot more like relaxing than watching out for the Blues. Not that there was much to watch out for with only Caboose at the other base. 

The view was getting fuzzy around the edges as they passed the bottle between them, but it was still nice. At least it was until Grif said something insulting that Simmons didn’t quite catch. He could just tell from that snide tone. 

“I know you are, but what am I?” Simmons said. Yes, perfect comeback for all occasions. 

“Lame.” 

“Actually, I’m a cyborg.” 

“As you like to remind everyone constantly. Just stop,” Grif said, rolling his eyes. 

Simmons could tell it was fake annoyance by now. “I can’t stop. It’s not in my programming.” 

“Come on,” Grif said, taking a swig of whiskey. “You’re killing me.” 

“Sarge has that down as one of my official goals this year. I’ve also got a heckling Grif program installed, its priority three.” 

Grif snickered. “You make me doubt that cyborgs can overtake humanity.” 

“Hey Grif, how do you stop a cyborg from destroying humanity? You can’t, so you should start recognizing my superiority right now. Practice your surrender, human.” 

“You wish, dude.” 

“Beep boop beep. Does not compute.” 

Grif threw his head back and started cackling like he couldn’t help himself, his eyes lighting up. It was different from his normal sarcastic chuckles. That wasn’t really a happy sound. This sound came from a lot deeper. Grif laughed with his whole body. This was maybe the happiest he’d ever heard Grif. 

Simmons’ cheeks heated from the whiskey and the positive attention, but he felt cocky and a little reckless as he grabbed the bottle from Grif, victorious. 

“You are such a loser.” Grif smiled at him helplessly. 

Simmons grinned back. So the way to get him was through cyborg humor, huh? Good to know. 


End file.
